it works best when in my lap.
I am hunched over
sitting for hours
with my tiny paintbrushes and pencils
painting tiny leaves.
folds creased into the skin of my stomach
Everyone is taking better and better photo's or maybe they always were.
Sweden sunlight looks like california sunlight.
i held it in the palm of my hand.
fingers black from the grease
the chain was slick
the nuts were gritty
I pushed and pulled the new tire on, pumped the air
thinking the whole time of the wind in my hair
and my hands on the curving silver handlebars
what was it that you accomplished?
Do you even remember what it was now?
it felt like a grand victory.
but life is full of so many it's hard to keep track.
The dogs licked my hands, then snarfed their noses into the seams of my jeans.
one gently pressed his two front paws into my hip, asking, politely.
I sat on the cement porch watching the bouganvillea and the planes flying over the tall fence.
I can clearly say I had never been there before, didn't know the hills in the streets and the curve of the nearby canyon, all the houses sat above the street, making them look like faded castles.
the present tense
is me sitting on a stool
legs folded, paint spread out, one lamp lit,
megs bells jingling in and out of the house.
I can hear her on the steps, in the courtyard.
painting , sewing, thinking of you and maybe if we had watched black cat white cat things would have ended differently.
a tiny spider races up and down the wall.
